


Febuwhump 2021 No. 5

by Sapless_Tree



Series: MacGyver Febuwhump [5]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: (it's a little one it's okay), Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2021, Gen, Held at Gunpoint, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Whump, everyone else is mentioned like one time, gunpoint, gunshot wound, macgyver whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapless_Tree/pseuds/Sapless_Tree
Summary: Febuwhump No. 5 (ALT 9)Prompt: gunpoint“Well,” the man started, “I came a little more prepared than that.”And before Mac could register the hand sliding quickly to the concealed pocket, there was a gun pointed at his face. While caught off guard, Mac didn’t allow himself the luxury of panic; he was trained for this, and it was hardly the first time he’d stared down the barrel of a gun.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: MacGyver Febuwhump [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137668
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Febuwhump 2021 No. 5

**Author's Note:**

> hiii I'm back, used another alt prompt because uhhh I couldn't think of anything good for the actual prompt sdshjsdk, hope you enjoy!

It seemed to Jack that every single time he got a day off and tried to go out and spend it having fun, something _always_ came up. The world could never seem to stay saved for just five minutes. Just long enough for a quick break, just a day. Jack thought he and the team deserved that much. So when-- after three long, back-to-back missions-- Matty gave them all a day off, Jack was _determined_ to have that day off.

As it was, Matty had already (as apologetically as she could while still maintaining her hard, business-oriented exterior) called Riley and Bozer back into work for the day. Something about a network security update for Riley to check over, and an op needing a facial prosthetic that had had its timetable moved up several days very suddenly.

Matty hadn’t called Mac or Jack. And while Mac would have added ‘yet’ to the end of that sentence, to that Jack would have said that Matty could go ahead and kiss his _you know what_ if she thought he was going into work that day.

No, they earned a day off, and dammit, Jack was going to have a day off. And he was going to spend it forcing Mac to relax with him.

Jack planned it all out carefully in his head. The two would stay at Mac’s place and marathon Bruce Willis movies. It eliminated the risk of running into trouble by going out and was an easy, brainless thing that the both of them could enjoy. There were some leftovers in the fridge from when Bozer had made them all stuffed poblanos along with some other assorted sides that hadn’t been finished; Jack was more than excited about reheating those and cracking open a cold beer to go with it. 

It was going to be a good day, whether the universe wanted it or not, and Jack made sure to tell Mac as such over the phone the night before. 

Mac found Jack’s insistence to have the day off a little silly, but humored the older agent. Of course he would enjoy spending a day watching movies with the man, but he would be just as happy spending it with him at work as he would at home. Mac would admit to enjoying having the extra time to sleep in-- though he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so, always having been an early riser, he appreciated having the option. He let himself indulge in a more scenic, leisurely run than he normally took, and a long shower. 

Once home and clean, Mac made sure to set out Jack’s favorite blanket on the couch for their marathon and wear the well-loved and slightly oversized Metallica t-shirt that was honestly probably Jack’s at some point. As Mac waited for Jack to arrive (because of course Jack would be so particular only to take his sweet old time anyway) he fiddled with one of his projects in his room.

The doorbell startled Mac from the half-finished contraption on his bedroom desk. Jack didn’t ring the doorbell, the whole team knew better than to knock or ring the doorbell before coming in. But Mac wasn’t expecting anybody else-- it wouldn’t be the first time Jack accidentally got locked out.

“You forget your key?” Mac called as he approached the door and grasped the handle, “I thought about just leaving it unlocked for you, but I know how you hate when I don’t lock the--“ Mac trailed off as he opened the door; he was met with an unfamiliar face-- a scruffy looking man with a hard set jaw. 

“Can I help you?” Mac said. His guard was up, suspicious of the unexpected visitor, but not quite apprehensive yet. 

“Are you Jack Dalton?” The man asked.

“Who’s asking?” Mac returned.

“I am,” the man said simply, “I spoke with Christopher Rees over the phone about a large sum of money a number of years back. Recently, I was able to trace that fake name back to a ‘Jack Dalton’ and was informed I could find him here. Are you him?”

“Depends,” Mac said, revealing only as much as the man would-- only what was necessary. “What do you want?”

“As I said,” the man spoke, “a large sum of money had been discussed. And seeing as how Rees, or _Dalton_ , rather, owes me that money, I only see it fit to come collect it.”

A fake name meant it was likely a cover ID Jack had used in the past. From Mac’s other experiences where one of Jack’s past covers came back to haunt them, things never seemed to go well. Likely that money had been in relation to a mission and had never really been intended to be given to this man. 

“How much is it?” Mac asked.

“Two million,” the man rolled his shoulders back, “but seeing as how it’s taken so long, I think there’s some interest to be paid on it as well,” he informed with a smile. Mac could tell that no such interest had been discussed, this was just a cheeky bastard looking to squeeze more cash out of a deal that had supposedly been made years ago.

“And you thought what?” Mac asked, “you’d just walk up to the house and demand two million dollars under the assumption that Jack Dalton _might_ be here?” Using Jack’s first and last name felt a little odd, but it was best to do so. It didn’t indicate familiarity or recognition-- kept Jack safe, if only marginally and temporarily so.

“Well,” the man started, “I came a little more prepared than that.” 

And before Mac could register the hand sliding quickly to the concealed pocket, there was a gun pointed at his face. While caught off guard, Mac didn’t allow himself the luxury of panic; he was trained for this, and it was hardly the first time he’d stared down the barrel of a gun. No matter how many times it happened though, Mac could feel his heart rate tick up as the man cocked the gun, and he had to be more conscious about keeping his breathing even.

“May I come in?” The man asked, walking forward slowly. The gun was still trained at Mac’s face, so the blond backed up a few paces into the house. “I don’t want to have to use this, but I will if you don’t start telling me where my money is, Dalton.”

“And what makes you think I’m him?” Mac asked, still backing away. He needed to stall-- needed to think.

“You’d sure be asking a lot of questions for someone who isn’t him.”

Mac’s back bumped against the wall. Time was up, he needed to do something. Mac waited for the man to approach another few steps before he moved.

As quickly as he could, Mac grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it away from his face. A shot rang out, shattering something, but Mac couldn’t pay it much mind as the man fought back, pushing hard against Mac so his back slammed into the wall. The air whooshed out of his lungs as he was slammed against the wall a second time. 

The man was trying to get his other hand on his gun, but Mac was faster, grabbing the hand with the gun with both arms and trying to wrench it out of the man’s grasp.

The two struggled for a while, both trying to get control of the weapon. A lucky movement from the man had his elbow catching Mac’s temple. Mac reeled back at the sharp pain; it left him open for when the butt of the gun smacked him.

Mac’s senses whited out for a second as he hit the floor, a throbbing ache at his hairline the first thing to come back to him. 

Everything else came back in a rush at the sound of the gun coking once more. 

Mac rolled to the side as another shot was fired, and the side of his bicep burned as if a fiery metal poker had been pressed against it. Blood bubbled up past the graze, hot and slick.

Scrambling to his feet before the man could shoot again, he lunged at the intruder, sending the both of them crashing to the ground. The man hadn’t lost his grip on the gun yet and used that to his advantage, swinging the thing wildly at Mac. 

Mac dodged a few hits, but there was no pattern to the man’s movements-- one swing landed right smack on the blond’s jaw and another to the temple again. 

Mac was only dazed for a moment, but that was all it took for the man to hook an arm around Mac’s neck in a chokehold, even with the two of them still on the floor.

Hands up and grasping the arm around his throat, Mac thrashed hard. He couldn’t breathe. Quick, gasping breaths were all Mac could choke out past the crushing pressure around his throat.

He could feel his struggling grow weaker and, even aware of it, there was nothing he could do as the gun cocked again.

The edges of Mac’s vision greyed out, black spots dancing around in his peripheral. His hands were still at the arm around his throat, but instead of trying to break out of the hold, it was all he could do to grasp tightly onto the man’s arm. Mac’s dull fingernails imprinted little crescent-shaped marks into the flesh.

Even with his hazing vision, Mac could see the gun coming close to his face. Giving up on his useless attempts to get away, Mac forced his arms to cooperate sluggishly in pushing against the man’s other arm-- the one holding the gun. 

Maybe it was only in his oxygen-starved brain that he put up a good fight, but it seemed it took forever before the gun was against his face. The adrenaline definitely helped, but it didn’t change that he still couldn’t _breathe_ , or the fact that he’d been overpowered.

“Tell me where the money is,” the man demanded. The words came from far away, filtering lazily into Mac’s senses as if taking their sweet old time getting to him. He couldn’t have responded even if he wanted to.

Mac squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to focus on the gun’s cold barrel touching his cheek, pressing harder even as Mac did his best to keep it away; his arm was screaming in white-hot pain, warm blood still trickled down his bicep and his head throbbed in tandem with his racing heart. 

There was a moment where his small, strained gasping didn’t let in any air-- a moment of panic. 

Mac gave one last frantic thought to Jack; he felt bad that his partner wouldn’t get the relaxing day he’d hoped for. And it was an almost hysterical afterthought that someone would have to clean up the aftermath. 

A gunshot.

It was deafening.

But… Mac was sure he could still feel his heart beating, fluttery and panicked, but working just fine. The man on top of him slumped, and the gun was gone from Mac’s face. 

Immediately, Mac was barking out a choked cough, air rushing into his lungs as quickly as he could fill them.

“Mac!” A voice cut through the ringing in Mac’s ears. “Mac!” The man’s body slid off of him-- no, it was dragged-- and hands were touching his face. Mac twisted away on reflex, but instead of holding his head in place, the hands disappeared. 

“Relax, relax-- it’s just me. It’s Jack.”

“Jack?” Mac’s eyes flew open and, sure enough, he was met with the face of his partner, worry lines creased and deep brown eyes stirring with emotion. If Mac hadn’t been gasping for air, he might have laughed; coming down from the adrenaline of being alive after the universe did its best to see him otherwise always made him laugh. Jack, too, usually, but Jack didn’t look anywhere close to laughing this time. 

“Yeah ol’ Jack’s right here,” Jack reassured, helping Mac sit up. “Woah, hey,” Jack said as he got a better look at the blond. “Your head’s bleeding, kid, hang on.” Jack’s fingers gently probed along Mac’s hairline, letting up even more when Mac winced. “It’s going all black and blue ‘round right here,” Jack said about a few particular spots. 

Mac was sure he could feel where Jack was eyeing if the steady throbbing at his hairline and at his temple were any indication. While not bleeding, his jaw was probably also sporting some impressive colors, too. “Yeah, he, uh, hit me with the gun a few times.”

“Sonofa-- I shoulda shot him harder,” Jack growled, casting a hard stare at the man in the room with them. That man shifted a little, a wheeze to his breathing-- he wasn’t dead, that’d be too good for him. But if he tried anything Jack wouldn’t have second thoughts about shooting again. 

Mac actually did laugh that time, if only at the absurdity of Jack’s threat; it was broken up by a few gaspy coughs here and there, but he laughed nonetheless. Mac had almost been shot through the face, and while Jack hardly saw the humor in that, it was a contagious sort of thing to laugh-- it always was with the two of them.

“Shot him _harder_?” Mac asked once he’d stopped laughing. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he said as he pressed an arm to his bicep with a hiss. 

“Shit, brother,” Jack said, tenderly taking the arm in his hands and turning it so he could look. “You got hit. Let me see,” he said, guiding Mac’s hand away. The graze wasn’t too deep-- it wouldn’t even need stitches-- but it was seeping blood, and the skin around it was irritated, inflamed, and even a little singed from the close range. Though it was a tingly numb without anyone touching it, it would hurt later. 

Mac flicked his head back to flip the hair out of his eyes, bringing the awareness of the pain in his head right back.

“Don’t do that,” Jack said gently, cupping Mac’s cheek with one hand before smoothing the blond hair down. “We don’t need that big brain of yours getting knocked around in there any more than it already has been.”

Mac closed his eyes and gave a minute nod. “You mind grabbing the first aid kit for me? Should be in the kitchen.”

“How about we get you off the floor first,” Jack said instead. Helping Mac from a sit to a stand, Jack guided Mac over to the couch and sat him back down. Mac could have done it on his own, but Jack was right there, wanting nothing more than to help and make sure Mac was okay.

Jack was quick about finding the first aid kit and washing his hands before heading back to Mac. The thing was well stocked-- it always was not only for moments just like this, but also for kitchen accidents, stubborn refusals of proper medical treatment, and simple clumsy slip-ups. 

“You maybe wanna fill me in on why the hell this guy had a gun to your face just now?” Jack asked, pulling the antiseptic wipes out of the kit.

“I was hoping you could,” Mac returned. “Guy said you owed him money for something-- that he traced you back here from a fake name. I’m assuming it’s an old cover ID. Does Christopher Rees sound familiar?”

Jack sighed, and Mac could tell Jack recognized it. It was in the way his concerned frown grew tighter and how he wordlessly used the antiseptic wipe to clean the blood off of Mac. It was as if Jack was remembering through the past for himself. Or maybe it was the slight guilt Mac picked up on that had Jack quiet-- yet another one of his skeletons coming from the closet and hurting his kid.

“Yeah I know it,” he said finally. “Rees was a CIA cover from back in the day. Asshat over there,” Jack jerked his head in the man’s direction, “was just a gun for hire. Only reason we were after him was because he got after someone personal to a friend of mine-- the job was more a favor than anything,” Jack explained as he took out and unrolled the gauze roll.

Jack was careful with the wrapping, making sure it was tight, but not too tight around Mac’s bicep before he taped it off. 

“It was easy as far as ops go,” Jack continued. “Christopher Rees was stuck in an unhappy marriage and needed to split from his wife-- if you know what I mean. So, I called the jerk, dangled the big bucks in front of him in exchange for offing the missus, and set up a meeting place.”

“The meeting was a set-up?” Mac guessed.

“Right-o,” Jack said, “I never even saw the guy face-to-face ‘til today. Dumb bastard went right to the meeting place expecting Rees, and he got cuffs instead.” Jack eyed the still-unconscious man on the floor. “Though I guess he didn’t slip away from prison and show up here by bein’ dumb.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Mac said. “He thought I was you.” Mac could see the corners of Jack's lips twitch up, so he continued. “I bet I’d make a good Jack Dalton, though. I’d have to work on memorizing every line to every Bruce Willis movie first, but I can do the accent pretty good.” Jack let out a little laugh-- some of the heaviness to his guilty, weighted shoulders lifting.

“Well, as much as I'd like to hear you do the whole state of Texas dirty, you’re more in luck with the Bruce Willis movies. 'Cause guess what we’re gonna be doing all day?”

Mac quirked his eyebrows. “You’re not making me go to medical?”

Jack’s eyes were on him in an instant, checking the blond up and down for anything he might have missed. “Do you think you need to? We can go get you checked out if it’s hurtin’ bad-- probably a good idea, too, make sure you’re not concussed. I didn’t wanna make you since we don’t have to be at Phoenix for once, but we should go if you’re askin’ about it, huh?” 

“No, no,” Mac reassured quickly, already regretting bringing it up in the first place. “I’m fine, just a little surprised.” Jack gave him a look. “Really, I am. Never had a bullet graze that didn’t hurt, but it’s manageable.”

“And your head?” Jack asked.

“Hurts, but nothing’s blurry.”

Jack hummed, pulling out his phone and turning the flashlight on. He shone it in Mac’s face and-- under the thought of staying out of medical-- Mac let him. “Your pupils look okay. You nauseous or dizzy or anything?”

“No and no. He never got any solid hits in, he kinda flailed around and got lucky. I wouldn’t have marked him as a professional if you hadn’t said anything.” Mac looked over at the man. If Jack hadn’t come, Mac wouldn’t have been able to mark anyone as anything again. “What are we going to do about him anyway?” 

“I was thinking we could just dump him on Phoenix’s doorstep and make it their problem. I don’t know about you, brother, but I am _not_ about to spend my day getting questioned by Matty because of this guy.”

“I hear that,” Mac said. 

“Up and at ‘em then. You just get yourself to the car, I’ll take care of this dude,” Jack said. Mac did as he was told, and watched as Jack heaved the man up and headed for the kitchen.

“You forget where the front door is?” Mac teased.

“No I did not, thank you very much, smart guy,” Jack shot back as he looked around through the lower cabinets. He found what he was looking for a moment later: garbage bags. “But there ain’t no way this guy is gonna bloody up my seats. He’s sitting on plastic.”

Mac laughed but had the good sense to quiet it when he saw Jack actually laying out the plastic bags on the back seats. He didn’t need another lecture on the proper technique for removing blood stains from leather seats-- it wasn’t as easy as it seemed, Jack insisted, but Mac thought it to be a pretty straightforward thing. Again, not a lecture he needed to hear twice. 

When Jack had said they’d dump the guy on Phoenix's doorstep, Mac didn't think he meant literally. Jack dragged the man a few feet into the building, dropped him there with a little note he’d dictated to Mac in the car, and left. 

“What? We’ve got important things to watch,” Jack defended on the way back. “Very important things.” Mac could only smile. 

Yeah, they would get their day off after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Suure, let them have their day off, Matty is gonna kill them tomorrow at work tho


End file.
